(NOT) The Administrator of the World

Did I mention that I hate the fact
That come Monday, my joy becomes redact,
And I'm stuck in a world with helpless jerks
Who rely on me to do their works.

"That's not my job," I suppose I could say,
But they're too stupid for me to put it that way.
Or if I redirect them to someone who can help,
They still pester me like a needy little whelp.

Every new Monday, I dread to return
To see what new concoction they churn
And then fling at me with a piteous whine,
Asking me to make their problems seem fine.

I can't fix every problem as things become unfurled!
I'm not the Administrator of the World!
...
I'm just glad that one person asks me to
Do the jobs that she knows are mine to do.